


This Kind of Care

by Nuanta



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Black Eagles Route, First Kiss, Hubert hunts down some baddies, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining, Those Who Slither in the Dark, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:27:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23753842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nuanta/pseuds/Nuanta
Summary: Hubert has sullied his hands in Edelgard's name a thousand times over, and he will gladly do so for thousands more. He does not expect to do so for Ferdinand as well.
Relationships: Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra
Comments: 50
Kudos: 329
Collections: Ferdibert Birthday Bash 2020





	This Kind of Care

**Author's Note:**

> My contribution for Day 3 of the Ferdibert Birthday Bash, for the prompt First Kiss! Inspired by [Marks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marks/pseuds/Marks) and this amazing [tweet](https://twitter.com/nonnonnegative/status/1250750984407654407). 
> 
> Warnings for torture (of an unnamed villain) and depictions of violence, which are rather canon-typical, but better to be safe and warn for them nonetheless.
> 
> Massive hugs and thanks to [Golden Threads](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldenThreads/pseuds/GoldenThreads) and [unrivaled_tapestry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/unrivaled_tapestry/pseuds/unrivaled_tapestry) for the delightful cheerleading and beta!

The sun is setting over the Oghma Mountains, bringing with it the northern winds’ chill. They haven’t picked up just yet, but the full brunt of them is on the way. Tonight will be particularly frigid.

Hubert thumbs the fastenings of his cloak, pulling the material in closer. For all Edelgard jokes that he has ice in his veins, even he can be discomfited by the weather this far north. Unfortunately, his lead has brought him here, deep in the mountain pass between the territories Galatea and Charon. Fortunately, it is a very promising one. 

He carries no map on his person—a safety precaution should he fail, however unlikely—but he knows he draws near. He has etched the path to memory, having traced the steps behind closed eyelids for two full weeks before departing. He reaches into the inner pockets of his coat, past the vials of poison for his rations. Bites the wrapping open and shovels the pasty meal bar into his mouth. Best not to neglect his energy levels at such a crucial point in his mission. 

Footsteps crack into twigs, thump into any loose dirt in the soil. Hubert instinctively swallows, fighting the urge to choke as the undecimated chunk forces its way down his throat, and slinks into the shadows behind a tree, away from the slivers of orange-pink sunlight still filtering through the trees. There, he quiets his breathing and listens as the march gets louder, closer, until— 

Ferdinand von Aegir emerges from behind a brush, vehemently cursing a spindly root protruding from the ground, bits of leaves rumpling his fiery hair. 

It’s shock that causes Ferdinand’s name to slip, unbidden, from Hubert’s lips, and then he has no choice but to step out into the open, to bear the full force of that wide, _delighted_ freckled smile and perfect teeth. 

“Hubert!” Ferdinand exclaims. His travel coat is scratched and torn in places, no doubt from his completely senseless forays into the woods, and yet somehow he infuriatingly manages a regal flair with the way his chest puffs up at the sight of him. “I—” 

“What in the blazes are you doing here?” Hubert demands. He knows Ferdinand’s schedule as well as he knows his own or Edelgard’s. He should be heading to rendezvous with Edelgard for a briefing at Garreg Mach to discuss the results of his negotiations with Count Galatea on behalf of his daughter, not meandering through the mountain pass. Unless… “This is the route back to the monastery you chose to take? On foot?”

Ferdinand shrugs. “I suppose you could say that,” he says sheepishly. As swiftly as the sun bursting from behind the clouds, his expression brightens. “But now that I’ve found you, we can complete our journey together!” 

Hubert smirks. “Honor as that may be, we are currently heading in opposite directions, so I’m afraid that won’t be possible.” 

Ferdinand frowns. “But our council meeting is only a few days away. Where are you going that requires your attention at a time like this? You will not make it back—” 

“Enough of your incessant, thoughtless prattle,” Hubert snaps. The hairs on the back of his neck are prickling, though he can’t tell if it’s currently from more than mere annoyance. “Do you mean to imply you doubt my commitment, or my abilities?” 

As expected, Ferdinand flushes exquisitely. “O-Of course not!” he stammers. “I only meant to offer my assistance, so that your work may proceed more efficiently.” 

Goosebumps are creeping up his skin now. “You know full well my work is off-limits to you and anyone else’s meddling ways,” he bristles. 

He’s about to say more, but there’s another snapping noise nearby, startling him into action. He grabs Ferdinand by the arm and yanks him back into the shadows. 

“Ow! Hubert, what—” 

“Quiet!” Hubert hisses, clamping a palm over Ferdinand’s mouth. He presses Ferdinand up into a tree, their chests flush against one another. The position is awkward; their legs are mingled such that one of Ferdinand’s is now right between Hubert’s, very close to hitting him uncomfortably in the groin, but that’s of little importance. 

Hubert hooks his chin over Ferdinand’s shoulder and peers out, scanning the light and shadows alike, searching for any further movement within the trees. A heartbeat that is not his own hammers into him as he picks up on several distinct gaits closing in on their direction. 

Damn it all. 

He faces Ferdinand, close enough to share breath. Ferdinand stares back, eyes wide. 

Very softly, very carefully, Hubert says, “Under no circumstances must you reveal yourself to these people. You are completely in over your head and your interference will jeopardize everything Lady Edelgard has worked towards. You are to stay hidden here, understand?” 

There are so many questions within Ferdinand’s gaze. Hubert closes his eyes and heaves a breath lest he vent out his frustration. This is just an unfortunate instance of wrong place, wrong time. It’s not actually Ferdinand’s fault, but oh, it would be so much easier if Hubert could just chew him out and force him into obedience. 

But his enemies draw closer, so Hubert presses up against Ferdinand insistently. “Do I make myself clear?” he growls.

Wincing, Ferdinand slowly nods his head. Satisfied, Hubert steps away. 

Then he leaps from the shadows and hurls a miasma directly into a hooded figure’s mask. 

The Agarthan has no time to scream before they collapse, no chance to defend against that powerful an attack in such close quarters. Their allies, however, rise up in a chorus of, “Get him!” and then there are several blasts of dark magic hurtling towards Hubert. 

Hubert fires off a broad mire to intercept some of the assault and ducks, rolls before weaving a death spell into the cloak of the nearest living enemy. There were initially seven; now they are down to five. Still, it’s only a third of what his reconnaissance informed him of. He’ll have to conserve his strength for the remaining forces at their base. 

A swarm spell bursts alive in front of him, clouds of dark magic insects swirling and coalescing all around. Hubert throws his cloak over his face, grits his teeth and braces himself before charging through it, biting hard onto his tongue enough to draw blood to prevent the scream from breaking out of him as the spell feasts at bits of his clothing and flesh. He emerges on the clear end of the spell in the perfect angle to tackle another Agarthan to the ground. Hubert draws the hidden blade from his sleeve and, after a brief tussle, slices his throat before concealing the dagger once more. 

The three that are left surround him, maintaining a safe distance for casting, but even as Hubert conjures up another miasma the dread is sinking down his spine, because no, there should be four, how could he have lost sight of that last one— 

“There’s another!” comes the cry from the woods, right where— 

_Oh, no_. 

Hubert whirls and redirects his spell with brutal force, attuned to the exact direction of the voice. The spell hits the missing Agarthan square in the back, the same time as he notices the tip of a sword protruding from its midsection before it is tugged out again. 

The Agarthan falls, leaving behind the proud figure of Ferdinand von Aegir towering over them, hair framed and aglow in the final lingering fragments of sunlight, bloodied sword in his hands. His eyes are narrowed, unapologetically fierce, and Hubert can’t fault him this reveal, not when his own negligence caused the discovery in the first place. 

Blast. 

He barely has a chance to register the sudden horror morphing Ferdinand’s features when the familiar agony of a miasma spell catches him in the side. White-hot pain sears through him as he staggers down to one knee, and damn Ferdinand for this distraction, he could have been done with these imbeciles by now— 

But there’s no time. Two more spells are weaving towards him from either side, angled such that the only avoiding them is to tumble to his aggravated side, right into the waiting dagger of the final remaining assailant— 

Then Ferdinand is there, shielding him with his body, crying out in pain as the dagger pierces past the cracks in his travel armor, not sturdy enough for anything other than combating simple bandits on the road, and sinks into his abdomen with a sickening sound. In that same instant, Ferdinand’s sword cuts a thin gash across the Agarthan’s calf before clattering to the ground. 

The dagger is wrenched out of him, and Ferdinand crumples. 

He falls directly on top of Hubert, forcing him further down, even as he tries to catch him, even as he trembles with the aftershocks of the direct hit he’d taken from the spell. Ferdinand’s eyes are clenched shut, his lips parted, as a red stain pools and spills from his side, over onto Hubert’s gloves. Hubert heaves a labored breath, pulse thundering in his ears. 

The Agarthan takes a step back, twirling the bloodied dagger in his hands. 

“Blood of Cichol,” says the Agarthan in a deep voice. “Let’s move.” 

And then he warps. 

Hubert’s heart stops. 

He remembers, vividly, a conversation in Edelgard’s chambers back in their academy days, where she’d trembled uncontrollably, fists digging into her thighs where she sat at the edge of the bed. How torturous it had been for her to stand idly by as Thales and his ilk bloviated over the importance of their cause, the fruits their blood research had given them, and nod her head as though she agreed with them. She’d never wanted this. She’d vowed, then, that no one else would suffer as she had. 

And Hubert swore to her once more, with all the fervency his poisoned heart could claim, that he would be there to ensure it. 

He has to get that dagger. 

Hubert twists himself out from under Ferdinand—who is still motionless, a dead weight, just from one blow—and fires off another miasma, into the distance, where he can see the remnant wisps of purple magic where the warp must have taken the Agarthan. It doesn’t make it, for one of the two remaining Agarthans warps in front of it, taking the blow to ensure their comrade’s escape. 

With a feral roar, Hubert takes off at a run, stumbling at first before shaking off the ache of his injury. He casts three more miasma spells in quick succession, one of them hitting the final remaining enemy, the other two going wild. The final piece of sun slips away at last, and darkness begins to fall, and the bastard has gotten away. 

Hubert stops for a moment, panting hard. He can track the signs of dark magic use, can follow the warps back to their base. It’s corroborated by his information of whereabouts it should be, which is a good sign. He hasn’t lost this yet by any means. He will simply storm the base, kill everyone there like he was going to do anyways, and leave them no time for further heinous experimentation. They will not be able to make use of Ferdinand’s precious blood. 

Ferdinand. 

He looks back. 

The man in question is unconscious in the dirt, unmoving still, and Hubert—he can’t just leave him like this. But he also cannot afford to let the Agarthans get away. The horrors they inflict will affect hundreds, thousands, of lives. Compared to just one—

Hubert’s feet drag back towards Ferdinand’s body, until he is kneeling before him. He gingerly rolls Ferdinand onto his back, so he can properly assess the wound, and notices two things in quick succession.

One, the wound is deep, but appears to have missed any vital organs. A simple heal spell should suffice to close it. Hubert can do that; he’s learned rudimentary healing at Edelgard’s request for her peace of mind when he’s fighting his solitary shadow war, just in case something were ever to happen. A wound like this is within his abilities. 

Two, the wound is poisoned. 

It’s a simple poison, one of the ones Hubert carries on him at all times. Incapacitates the victim for some time, but fortunately not lethal. Unfortunately, Hubert hasn’t stocked his solo travel pack for antidotes, given his personal immunities from a lifetime of training. 

Still, Ferdinand will survive this. That is what matters. 

Hubert channels some healing into the wound, cringing at the warmth from the light magic, and the sudden brightness it casts into the night. Ah. He hadn’t realized how dark it had gotten. Even so, Ferdinand’s wound closes. Hubert rips off a tattered end of his own cloak and wipes down the remaining blood. 

Satisfied with his work, Hubert conjures up a small flame to illuminate the area, and locates all of the bodies. He works methodically, dragging each body to an open space and piling them on top of one another. It’s a bit more of a trek to bring over the final two, but once he has the six bodies all stacked together—it should have been seven, he thinks with no small amount of bitterness and a hot flash of anger—he lights the whole thing up. 

The magic hisses and crackles sickeningly as it eats away at the bodies, consuming every inch until there’s nothing left to fuel the spell and it peters out, leaving only a rotted, metallic smell in its wake. 

Behind him, Hubert hears Ferdinand utter the faintest sigh. 

Hubert squeezes his eyes shut, fists clenched at his sides. He’s already wasted too much time. The Agarthans could send another group to scout the area. 

He can’t leave Ferdinand here. 

Hubert approaches him once more and bends over him, sliding a hand into Ferdinand’s, wincing at the hot, clammy skin. The fever is already starting, his body working through expelling the effects of the poison. He likely won’t wake until it breaks. 

“I’m going to warp us somewhere safe,” Hubert tells him, though he’s not sure why he’s compelled in this moment to talk Ferdinand through the process. It’s not like he’s aware of his surroundings. 

And yet, whether it’s in response to his words or his touch, Ferdinand’s fingers curl around Hubert’s, and the gesture punches the breath from Hubert’s lungs. 

He steels himself, and he warps. 

The familiar feel of his body being torn apart then sewed together again in rapid succession takes hold, and then it’s over seconds later, though the sensation of pins and needles will remain in his extremities for a minute longer. He summons another flame to light the area: the interior of a cave, one he’d scoped out the night before. This should provide a safe enough hideout until Hubert finishes with the Agarthan base, and the magical flame should keep the worst of the nighttime chill at bay. 

Ferdinand shivers, a full-body one that trembles all the way through to where he’s clutching Hubert’s hand. Hubert grimaces but pulls free, moves Ferdinand’s arms to rest atop his chest. Then he unfastens his cloak and settles the dark, tattered thing across Ferdinand’s body. 

A brilliant strand of hair sticks to Ferdinand’s mouth, over his nose, and he twitches in apparent discomfort. Hubert gently tucks it away, smoothes his hair back behind his ears. Ferdinand’s face is flushed now from the fever, so Hubert rips another section off his cloak and pours some water from his waterskin over it. Wrings out the excess and then places it over Ferdinand’s forehead. 

He can’t provide him with much relief other than this, so it will have to do. 

Hubert pushes back to his feet, muscles and ribs protesting the movement, but he can manage like this for now. His magical reserves are not so depleted, but he will have to budget them carefully for this next gambit. 

Ferdinand is safe for now, and soon his blood will be too. That’s all that matters. 

His eyes linger one last moment on Ferdinand’s face before he warps out. 

It takes three iterations of the spell to reach the hidden base. Hubert’s breaths rattle out of him by the time he draws close to the Agarthans guarding the entrance, but he manages to keep himself hidden long enough to get rid of them both without them alerting the others. 

That’s eight down, now. Still another twelve to go. 

Once inside, it’s a delicate waltz of conservation. Hubert has several daggers and a garrote; he uses them as much as possible but is still forced to expend some uses of his mire spell when distance becomes an issue. If only he hadn’t used those extra warps, but the situation had changed. Too many lives are at stake now that the blood of Cichol is in play. He cannot— _will not_ —let Edelgard down in this. 

Which means that Hubert is hunched over in the shadows of a hidden hallway, forcibly willing his breaths to slow and quiet, with seven Agarthans left to kill and the alert having sounded at last. And still no sign of the one who took Ferdinand’s blood. 

An Agarthan turns in from the main hallway and Hubert hurls a miasma at the same time as they cast one of their own. The beams of dark energy meet in the center of the hallway and explode, and Hubert dives underneath the blast, right for the Agarthan’s ankles. He slashes their Achilles tendons with his dagger and catches them in the throat when they stumble. 

Only six left, but he has to move. 

He meets three more down the hall, and in these tight quarters there’s no getting out of this unscathed. So Hubert charges straight for them, casting miasmas like rapid-fire as he does. It’s not enough to keep him from getting hit with magic of their own, but it does get him close enough to use the daggers again. 

He collapses at the end of the hallway, his body wracked with the burn of dark magic searing his flesh and bone. Casting a quick heal spell helps diminish some of the pain, but not all of it, and he can’t risk using up all his energy with healing. His fingers tremble but he barely feels it, numb as they’ve become from overuse of magic. 

Only three left, including _that_ one. And Hubert knows exactly where to find him. 

When he kicks open the door to the laboratory, he’s ready. He whirls behind the opening as twin death spells whistle past him, then he swings back through the entryway and fires one off of his own. It catches the Agarthan in the shoulder rather than the chest—is he already so tired that his angles are off?—but the mage’s reaction to the pain gives Hubert enough of a window to finish him off with a second spell. 

Two remain, both within this chamber. One stands in the middle of the room, facing Hubert, hands sparking with remnants of recently used magic. The other is by the far wall, hurriedly rummaging over a table. 

A bloodied gash on his calf. 

Depleted and injured though Hubert may be, that sight is more invigorating than any healing spell he could conjure. It is child’s play to take out the Agarthan in the center of the lab, and at last, he is alone with the blood thief. 

The Agarthan in question lets out what can only be described as a squeak when his final companion falls. He faces Hubert now, arms raised in surrender. 

“Please!” the Agarthan gasps. “Spare me, and I promise no harm will befall you!” 

Laughter bubbles out of Hubert’s chest before he can subdue it. “I’ve penetrated every nook and cranny of this stronghold. There is no one left here to hurt me, and only me left to hurt you. I’m afraid you’ll have to do better than that.” 

Without giving the Agarthan a chance to speak, he fires a miasma at the already injured leg. The Agarthan screams and falls to the floor. 

Hubert steps closer. “What have you done with the blood of Cichol?” 

“N-Nothing!” 

The Agarthan’s eyes dart wildly; Hubert follows his gaze and sees the bloodied dagger resting on the table behind them. 

“I don’t believe you,” Hubert says coolly, and sends a dark spike straight through the Agarthan’s other thigh. 

The Agarthan howls in pain, rolling from side to side.

“I-I swear! It’s been r-right here!” 

Hubert kicks him in the face, hard enough to break his nose. As the Agarthan chokes and blood gushes over the floor, he says, “I don’t think you’re telling me the full story, so let me ask you something different: who did you tell?”

“N-Not—enough—time,” the Agarthan gasps. “We were going to send a message but—you got here too quickly.” 

“Ah,” Hubert says, a grin stretching his cheeks, his heart soaring. “What a pity.” He thrusts another dark spike, this time through the Agarthan’s left shoulder. 

The Agarthan’s shrieks echo, reverberating against the chamber walls, and it’s music to Hubert’s ears. Adrenaline fuels him now, the thrill of the slow kill, what he was born to do, what he has ensured he can accomplish better than anyone else. Here, he is thriving, even as his vision blurs in and out. 

“Are you sure you don’t have anything else you’d like to tell me before you die?” Hubert simpers. “I would so hate for you to suffer thus.”

“Please!” begs the Agarthan. “I’ve told you everything, no more, please—the Cichol crest bearer would show mercy—” 

The last dark spike in his arsenal, through the opposite shoulder. 

Sobbing, now, mingled with the anguished wails. Desperate pleas, but Hubert’s senses are dimming, and he can hardly hear now beyond the rush of blood, of pure unadulterated anger in his ears.

“What a shame that you incapacitated him then,” Hubert says coolly, despite the tremors running through him. “Therein lies your mistake...because that left you with me instead.”

With that, Hubert scrounges up what little dark magic is left in him and casts a death spell straight into the man’s heart. 

And then he sinks to the floor, the world spinning, and he lets himself fall sideways until he is lying down. Closes his eyes and breathes hard. Allows himself a few minutes of respite until the world stops swirling around him. 

It’s over.

~o~ 

The sun is rising by the time Hubert returns to the cave, weary and stiff. The flame he had summoned flickers, but holds still. Ferdinand has not moved from where Hubert left him, but his head has tilted sideways and the cloth has slid off his forehead. Hubert bends down to feel his temperature, but cannot register the touch of his hand against Ferdinand’s skin. 

Still not sufficiently recovered. For either of them, it seems. 

Well. At this rate, the only way to make it back to Garreg Mach in time for the next council meeting will be through successive warp utilizations, so Hubert may as well replenish his energy while Ferdinand is still recovering. He moves to sit against the cave’s wall, still facing Ferdinand’s sleeping form. 

He watches Ferdinand for a long time.

And when sleep finally does take him, he dreams of warm skin against his fingers, and maybe even flaming hair. 

~o~

When Hubert wakes next, the sun is setting, pink and orange tinting the outer walls of the cave. His fingers twitch and flex against the dirt, bits getting caught in his nails. Better. Though there’s still a bone-deep weariness within him that suggests he’ll require another night’s rest before he can warp them back to the monastery.

He glances at Ferdinand, still asleep, though decidedly less matted with sweat. Hubert shuffles over on his hands and knees, and places his hand over Ferdinand’s forehead. 

Normal. He exhales slowly, letting the tension ease from his shoulders. 

Ferdinand’s head turns into the touch, and Hubert yanks his hand away like he’s been scalded. He makes to back off, but then Ferdinand’s eyes are blinking open, and Hubert finds himself rooted in place. 

Golden eyes look directly into his own, and Hubert can hardly breathe. 

A slow smile spreads across Ferdinand’s face. “Hubert,” he says hoarsely, and immediately breaks into a coughing fit. 

Hubert quickly helps him upright and hands over his waterskin. Ferdinand gulps the liquid down, gasping in relief when he’s finished. 

“Thank you,” Ferdinand says, passing it back. Hubert nods his acknowledgement and takes a swig himself, not trusting his voice at the moment. 

Ferdinand looks around, frowning. “Where are we?” 

Easy enough for Hubert to answer. “I found this hideout during my travels,” he explains. “I took you here after you fainted from jumping in front of a poisonous dagger.” 

Ferdinand cringes. “Ah. So that’s what happened. I admit I did not expect the blade to be coated in poison.” 

Hubert scoffs. “Clearly. But you’re awake now, so it must be out of your system.” 

“That is good to hear,” Ferdinand says, and stretches hugely, Hubert’s cloak haphazardly slipping to one side. Or starts to, and then he flinches, eyes tracking straight to his abdomen as he curls in on himself, tugging the cape close.

Hubert adds, “I would take it easy for now. I healed the wound with magic, but I’m no Linhardt.” 

Nodding his thanks, Ferdinand gingerly rotates his torso, testing. “What happened to our assailants?” 

“Dead, the lot of them. I torched the bodies and removed all evidence.” 

Ferdinand grimaces. “Perfunctory as always, I suppose.” His expression softens into one of genuine concern, directed entirely at Hubert, and he has to look away, lest he stare straight into the sun. “And what of you? Are you uninjured? Were you able to complete your mission?” 

Hubert swallows, nods. “The mission is complete,” he settles for. He decidedly does not speak a word of his travels, of the now-deserted base not so far from here. He does not tell Ferdinand of how he scoured the entire stronghold and purged it of any droplet of his blood. He can’t and won’t. With any luck, this ensures that Ferdinand will walk away from this ordeal none the wiser of their hidden enemy, without a fresh target painted on his back. “You certainly threw a wrench in my plans by showing up here, von Aegir.” 

“That was not my intention!” protests Ferdinand, waving his arms to emphasize his point. “You are always going off on your own without a word of where you are going or why. I only meant to locate your whereabouts and provide some aid on your—” 

“ _What_?” Hubert interrupts sharply, realization hitting him like a ton of bricks. “Are you saying it was not mere happenstance that we crossed paths in these mountains?” 

Ferdinand blushes, shrinks in on himself. “Ah,” he says simply, hanging his head. “I had not meant to confess to that.” 

Irritation prickles Hubert’s spine. “This isn’t the time nor the place for your petty games,” he snaps. “This is a war. You are an army-leading general. I run Lady Edelgard’s spy network. Our roles are not meant to be intertwined. Void’s sake, Ferdinand, my entire role is predicated on keeping secrets from everyone else, including you. Your jealousy of my role could have jeopardized Lady Edelgard’s entire campaign. It could have gotten you killed!” Those last words come spitting out of him before he can stop them, his heart pounding furiously against his ribcage. 

Ferdinand’s face reddens to the point where it matches his hair. “I am not jealous of your role!” he exclaims. “Is it so preposterous to think that perhaps I might simply worry about your wellbeing?” 

“I—” 

Ferdinand lurches forward onto his knees, crowding into Hubert’s space. “I’m sorry I interrupted your secret mission,” he says, eyes wide and earnest and imploring. “If this is how it must be, then I shall not do so again. But you keep leaving without a word, and no one ever knows when you will be coming back, if you will return at all. I realize there may be a risk of messages getting intercepted. But isn’t there something you can do to at least _warn_ us before you go? Is that so much to ask?” 

Hubert stares, tight-lipped, a foreign pressure in his chest, as his brain struggles to process the implications of those words. 

“This is war,” he repeats, the words resurfacing like a mantra in his mind, the most fitting logic he can latch onto in the face of this uncharted territory. “Anyone can die at any moment. You know this.” He hasn’t been awake for long, but already he’s been drained of his energy. “You could have died here.” 

“And if I was granted a do-over,” Ferdinand says, very serious, “I still would have stood in front of that blade. I would trade my life for yours, and in doing so I would die gladly every time.” 

“Why?” The question sighs out of him; Hubert is too exhausted to understand anymore. 

Ferdinand exhales slowly, then he reaches for Hubert’s hands, pausing with less than an inch of space between them. So close they can practically spark. But Ferdinand stops there, and looks at Hubert through long, fluttering lashes. The question in his eyes unmistakeable.

Words die in Hubert’s throat; all articulate thought flees his mind. Dimly, he recognizes the abject horror of the request, the fear of blotting out the sun with his taint.

But Ferdinand is unabashedly seeking this of him, and Hubert can’t help but feel the need to oblige.

He lifts his hands, and offers them upturned in answer.

A tiny whimper that sounds like relief, and then Ferdinand wraps them in his own. 

The stain does not spread. Hubert gawks at their joined hands, Ferdinand’s fingers massaging his. Memories of the deeds wrought by these hands too vivid, too close. Warmth washing through them all the same, gladly meeting the cold and offering it a pleasant reprieve. 

A low chuckle causes him to glance upwards, into Ferdinand’s warm smile. The heat from his fingers tingles all the way through him, and he does not want this to stop. Ferdinand holds his gaze captive as he raises Hubert’s hands and pulls them towards himself. As he slowly, deliberately, places a chaste kiss to each calloused fingertip.

Something both terrifying and wonderful swoops in Hubert’s belly, anticipation thrumming in his veins. The air around him is thick and heavy, and he’s on the brink of finally grasping it, of bottling it up and giving it substance.

“When I’d let myself imagine declaring my affections for you, I did not imagine it happening quite like this,” Ferdinand confesses, chin downturned but holding Hubert’s gaze with his own, inexplicably shy. A look that does not belong on one such as him. 

A newfound clarity to all that’s transpired here, still draped in Hubert’s own cloak. 

Their fingers still intertwined, he leans in closer, and Ferdinand’s sharp inhale sucks the breath from Hubert’s very lungs. But then Ferdinand is listing forward as well, until their noses are but a hair’s breadth apart, his eyes round and bright and achingly hopeful. 

Hubert believes himself a stronger man than this, a man who despises weakness, and yet—he welcomes it now, as he closes his eyes and softly touches his lips to Ferdinand’s. 

Ferdinand’s lips are plush and warm and full, full against Hubert’s, drinking him in with so much care, and this—this is the man Hubert maimed and tortured and killed for, who is now bringing his hands up to cradle Hubert’s jaw so delicately, with such tenderness—it is so much more than he ever thought he deserved. 

Hubert wonders, vaguely, if one day, when all his shadow wars come to an end, if he can face the world with this kind of care at the forefront. 

What a different, fulfilling life that might be. 

Kissing Ferdinand, being held this way—it steels his resolve in this fight, spurs him to work to make this dream a reality. 

The moment is revelatory, overwhelming and vast. Hubert pulls away slowly, rests his forehead against Ferdinand’s, and simply breathes, willing the relentless drumroll of his heart to ease back to normalcy. His hands, hanging useless at his sides, lift cautiously to the locks of Ferdinand’s hair, where they tangle and hold. Soft as silk. 

He exhales shakily, at a loss. Ferdinand hums inquisitively, and Hubert has to open his eyes then, find Ferdinand’s searching. 

“I’ve dreamt of this,” Hubert says dimly. 

Ferdinand beams at him.

“I regret to inform you that you are very much awake at the present,” he says, so strong and sure. 

Hubert kisses him again. “No regrets,” he murmurs against Ferdinand’s lips. “Just that this only happened due to you getting stabbed and poisoned.” 

Ferdinand laughs into his mouth, and suddenly Hubert is fighting to stifle a yawn.

“Maybe not so awake,” Hubert admits, though he is loath to. “In the morning, I can warp us back.”

Ferdinand presses a finger to his lips. “Hush about that. Come, lie down with me. We can huddle for warmth.” 

“Mm,” Hubert agrees, and he follows Ferdinand into a horizontal position. It requires some finagling to get Hubert’s cloak to cover them somewhat as a blanket, but he finds he couldn’t care less. Not when Ferdinand is so warm and present next to him. 

They shift, arms wrapping around each other, legs tangling readily, almost striking in its familiarity. The last thing Hubert sees before he closes his eyes is Ferdinand’s face, so charmingly fond, closing in to capture his lips once more. 

At some point, Hubert whispers, “I’ll endeavor to inform you whenever I must depart. My work is sworn to secrecy, but I can give you this much, at least.”

“Thank you.” Ferdinand smiles against his nose, and Hubert’s heart swells.

Nighttime descends upon them this way, as they drift to sleep between one kiss and the next.

**Author's Note:**

> If true love isn't going after the guy who hurt your crush and torturing him, I don't know what is.
> 
> EDIT: It took me 6 freaking months to remember that hey, just because I scream about fanart on twitter doesn't mean it magically shows up here. Atan did an absolutely beautiful piece for this fic that everyone should check out [here](https://twitter.com/atanalerectida/status/1262799597656633344)!
> 
> Come scream about these two with me on twitter! [@nuanta_fic](https://twitter.com/nuanta_fic)


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